


Diagnostics

by unravels (Holly)



Category: House M.D., Master and Commander (movie)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly/pseuds/unravels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cracky birthday drabble in which House visits Maturin to help him with a medical mystery he's been unable to solve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diagnostics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copinggoggles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=copinggoggles).



> Obligatory Statement of the Obvious: I'm using these characters as they are in their respective environments. House is from 2006 and Maturin is movie-canon, from roughly 1806. No, I don't know what House is doing in 1806. For some reason, it didn't seem important.

"I don't _care_ what they have in your 'modern age.' We don't have it here, and therefore we are doing this _my_ way." Maturin threaded his way through the maze belowdecks with complete familiarity, not looking back to make sure his companion was following.

"But it's filthy," House whined. At the next step his cane stuck firmly between two loose planks, and he wrenched it out with a growl.

"And I don't like touching bloody patients," he continued. "I don't even like rare steak. There's a correlation there, _doctor_, if you're even aware of such a concept here in the Dark Ages."

"Despite a certain number of spatial limitations, Dr. House, these are not the Dark Ages," Maturin called back. His voice took on the weary, lecturing tone that he usually reserved for Aubrey. "You may be privileged enough to live in a time of peace, but we must do the best we can with what we have. Now." He stepped through a makeshift door into an altogether more private cabin, where the ship's captain lay pale and unmoving.

"You've heard everything I can tell you about his condition," he concluded, "and you have all my resources, such as they are, at your disposal."

"Great," House muttered, nosing around the room without further invitation and looking very put-upon. "It's practically like having my own diagnostic wing."

"You should see what the man does with brains," Aubrey put in weakly, keeping his eyes closed. "Remarkable recovery. Never seen anything like it."

"Best if you don't try to talk, Jack," Maturin cautioned, voice low and concerned. House rolled his eyes.

"Brains. You're a psychologist now, too? You haven't been exposed to Freud, have you? I'll have you know that my mother is a very unattractive woman."

"I've read some Willis," Maturin replied, frowning. "He had some excellent ideas regarding brain anatomy; very helpful a few months ago in treating a depressed fracture of the skull."

Even House paused at this.

"You do brain surgery on this wreck?"

"It isn't a _wreck_," Maturin argued with more than usual force, then belatedly lowered his voice. When Aubrey didn't move, he nodded toward the door and led the way through various passages toward his own quarters.

"All right, I won't pretend I don't see your point," he conceded. "No room to move about where I treat most of the men. Terrible conditions. Rarely even proper instruments for some of the procedures. But it's a responsibility. A choice," he said, looking around wistfully. "And it's been Jack's home for years. He grew up on this ship."

"Oh, I'm sure an environment like this is _great_ for healthy development in kids."

Lips pressed tightly together, Maturin sat down and after a few moments' search, pulled a thick book out of a drawer under the table.

"You must get a new medical tome added to the old library... what, once every five or six years?" House asked, tromping around the room, thumping the walls with his cane and examining a few drawings.

"You could make some attempt to compensate for the lack, if you'd like," Maturin responded, through gritted teeth.

"What I'd _like_ is for Dr. Cameron to bring me a double gin and tonic so I can go up and kick back on the deck beside the pool."

Maturin blinked up at him, utterly confused.

"Pool?"

"Oh, that's _right_," House drawled, as if this had only just occurred to him. "You don't have a pool. And you don't have attractive, female doctors on warships. Strike two for the HMS _Surprise_."

"Dr. Cameron is a woman?" Maturin asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Oh, yeah," House leered, injecting as much innuendo as he could – which was considerable - into the phrase. "But I suppose you'd find that kind of free-thinking, bra-flinging, skirt-shortening women's lib too distracting out here."

"I don't see why a competent doctor would be distracting. I could often use an extra set of hands." Maturin's voice was vague, focused as he was on his reading. There was a long pause.

"…Yes," House said at last, with a despairing sigh. "That's what I thought."

"And all of this is fascinating, if it's true," Maturin added pointedly, "but it's not helping us find out what's wrong with Jack."

"Oh yes, your captain. He has scurvy."

"That's ridiculous," Maturin said, still bent over his book. "We pick up supplies at friendly islands. All of the men are required to eat a certain number of lemons on our travels, and he's no exception. We haven't had a single case."

"Yes, and the lemons are all piled very neatly in a basket up in that cabinet thing by the windows," House said, smug as a well-fed kitten. "Or several of them are. Apparently he hasn't been upstairs in a while to dump them overboard."

Maturin looked up, stared at him, and suddenly looked a lot less amicable.

"You mean to say that I've been watching him decline for weeks, trying _every possible_ treatment, and he hasn't even been following the simplest—"

"Probably doesn't like them," House confided in a cheerful whisper. "Can I get off this festering death boat now?"

Maturin froze.

"Now that you mention it, doctor, it is becoming more intolerable by the minute," he said at last. He stood up, eyes on the door, slamming his glasses onto the table. "And the _smell_ when we come back on board after being ashore…"

"Probably has rats, too," House said encouragingly. "And they carry all sorts of interesting buggies."

"Yes, yes, rats-- thank you for your assistance, Dr. House. One of the men will see you ashore." And with this curt dismissal, Maturin stormed out of the cabin towards the captain's quarters. Several dazed sailors stared after him, cowed into nervous silence.

"…Ashore?" House called out weakly.


End file.
